“Shoot,” said Dick; “we’re here to learn.” Then, with a fine assumption of uninformed innocence: “Where can I get one of those sweaters with an ‘S’ on it, like the one you’re wearing?” “That’s the first of the traditions,” returned the big Junior, with a little frown; “not to be fresh with your elders.” Dick apologized handsomely. “That _was_ fresh,” he admitted. “I can see that the green cap is going to fit me like a tailor-made suit of tights. Please forget it, and tell us some of the traditions.” Merkle briefed them. No smoking on the campus――which didn’t hit either of the “twins” because as yet they didn’t smoke anywhere――no cutting of class or college celebrations; no backing down when they were asked to take part in any of the college activities; no shirking of the “try-outs” for the various athletic teams. “Lots of other little stunts that you’ll absorb as you come to ’em,” Merkle concluded; adding: “Of course, you’ll both be in the bridge scrap. _You_ can’t do much but make a loud noise on the side-lines, because you’re not beefy enough”――meaning Dick; “but you”――with a nod for Larry――“you look fit enough to heave a locomotive off the track. Played on your High School eleven, didn’t you?” Larry nodded, and Dick explained: “Half-back; he’s too modest to tell you so himself. But what about this bridge scrap?” “It’s the pure quill,” said Merkle. “Dark night; single-span concrete bridge about a mile back in the country. Sophomores defend it; Freshies try to rush it. Two upper classes on hand to keep the murder list as low as possible. You’ll like it.” “What do we get out of it if we win?” Dick demanded. “Undying fame――and the right to paint the numerals of your class on the portal arch. It’s been eight years since a Freshman class did it.” Dick nodded. “Sounds pretty all right to me.” “And how about you, Curlyhead?” Merkle turned to Larry. At this, the Donovan downrightness came to the fore. “I’m not aiming to play horse,” he said, speaking slowly, as his habit was when he was appealed to. “I came here to study.” The upperclassman’s frown was portentous, as became his dignity. “See here, Donovan,” he returned; “I can tell you one thing: you won’t get very far if you begin by knocking the college spirit. You’ll not be urged, or even asked, personally, to go with your class into the bridge scrap. But unless you can flash up a doctor’s certificate to show that you’re physically unfit――well, I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes after the fact; that’s all.” “Larry’s all right,” said Dick, hastening to make peace. “He’s just too modest to brag. When does this bloody event eventuate?” “Pretty early in the game: fellows don’t get down to brass tacks in their college work until after it’s come and gone. You’ll have all the notice you’ll need. What schools do you enter?” “Civil for me; Mechanical for Larry.”